Origin of the Plinkett
by Onimiman
Summary: This is a love letter to Red Letter Media, who brought us the reviews to the Star Wars prequels, Indiana Jones 4, and Kevin Bacon.


Origin of the Plinkett

Samantha, the psychotic, man-like cleaning lady watched in relieved triumph as the old man with the tinted glasses, Harry S. Plinkett, fell down the stairs from above. He had just been shot with the shotgun that she carried in her hands, and after a few seconds, his corpse landed at the bottom where she stood. Samantha then took a moment to look upon the dead old man, who lay on his stomach, so that she could savour her victory; she had just destroyed most of Plinkett's home because of her inability to properly clean, and she won. The old man got his just desserts.

Suddenly, Plinkett sprang up from the floor and simultaneously grabbed the barrel of the shotgun still in Samantha's hands. He pinned her to the wall behind her just as he had the business end of the weapon pointed up Samantha's chin.

"Try to shoot me dead, huh?" he said. "Well, I'll show you what it means to fuck a Harry S.!"

But before he could do anything that would end her life, Samantha knelt the old man in the groin and he stumbled back. She then levelled the shotgun down upon him as he collapsed at the foot of the stairs behind him. But Plinkett then kicked up one of his legs to redirect the gun's aim, and the shot went wild as it hit the stairs behind him. And while the shot went wild, the gun accidentally hit Samantha right in the face, forcing her to drop the weapon as she groped her nose in agony.

"Ow! Oh, my face!" she screamed in agony.

Taking advantage of Samantha's pain, the old man sprang from the foot of the stairs and grabbed the gun. The psychotic cleaning lady, noticing that something was going wrong, took her hands away from her face to see what was going on, but she regretted that decision once she saw Plinkett pointing the shotgun in her face.

"Tell me, do you like Pizza Rolls?" Plinkett asked.

Samantha shook her head. "No."

"Well, fuck you then," he replied.

But when he pulled the trigger, nothing came out.

"God niblets!" he cried out. "Why the hell did I only load in three bullets into this shotgun?"

Hastily remembering that the old man briefly engaged in a firefight with her with a shotgun of his own that he left back upstairs just before she shot him, Samantha then shoved the barrel of the rifle out of her face and punched the old man across the face. He let out a grunt as he toppled off to the side while Samantha ran passed his fallen form to retrieve the shotgun from upstairs. But just when she reached the top, she was tackled from behind by the old man.

"Oh, no, you don't, you son of a bitch?" Plinkett retorted.

Samantha collapsed forward to the ground right before the old man grabbed her from behind by the hair and slammed her head down on the ground. When her head cleared up, she looked up and found the old man pointing his rifle toward her.

"Tell me, do you like Pizza Rolls?" Plinkett asked again.

Samantha raised an eye as to why the old man would ask her the same question. "Uhh.. Yeah, yeah, absolutely, I love Pizza Rolls!"

"Oh, well, awesome then," Plinkett said as he dropped his aim from Samantha and then threw the gun to the ground. But when it landed, it accidentally fired out a bullet that tore through Samantha's head and killed her.

"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed. "That happened like in a silly Saturday morning cartoon! Ohhhh, well." He then sighed. "Time to feed her to my cockroach collection in the freezer in my basement," he said out loud to himself. "Then I should probably put more bullets into my shotguns, store them somewhere safe so another crazy bitch won't try to kill me again, and then I think I'll watch _Star Trek: Generations_ and review that movie for that thing called the Internet. Yes, that bullet I took to the chest really changed my life for the better. Now who the hell am I talking to?"

"Plinkett!" a raspy old-man voice called from the air around Plinkett.

"Who's there?" Plinkett replied. "Bea Arthur? Is that you?"

"I am not Bea Arthur," the voice said as an old, leathery-skinned, wrinkly old man in a dark hood and robes manifested before Plinkett.

"You sure do look and sound like her though," Plinkett replied casually.

"My name is Emperor Palpatine," the form introduced himself. "And what has transpired today will change your life forever."

"Yeah, that's just what I said," Plinkett said.

"You will become one of the Dark Ones," Palpatine explained.

"The Dark Ones?" Plinkett asked. "I don't wanna become a Black guy, I like being a privileged white old man in his retirement, such as yourself, sir."

"I am not talking about that," Palpatine said. "The Dark Ones are a cabal of the most evil supernatural beings in all of existence, throughout all of reality itself. And you have just been selected as the ruler of this universe amidst the Multiverse."

"Will I have to do anything?" Plinkett asked.

"There are two paths to which you can run this universe," Palpatine began. "You can either subjugate all sentient beings across the cosmos of your reality as slaves to reign in your power, or... you can review shitty movies like _Star Trek: Generations_ and _Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace_."

"I think I'll do that last one, even though it makes no sense to me," Plinkett said.

"Oh, but in time, Plinkett, it will," Palpatine said.

"Say, weren't you in _Star Wars_?" Plinkett asked.

"Yes, I was, thank you for noticing," Palpatine replied politely.

"Then how can you be existing here if you're just a fictional character?" Plinkett asked.

"In the infinite vastness of reality, there is such a thing as a galaxy far, far away," Palpatine said cryptically.

"I guess that's possible," Plinkett replied. "Anything's possible with Hilary Clinton in the White House."

"There is but one condition though," Palpatine said. "You are to review all of the films that the Dark Ones want you to review; and they will take the form of Internet trolls who will push you to review those films based on their infamy as horrible blockbusters. You will also be required to review more obscure bad films by the Dark Ones, such as myself, who will not be able to use the guise of trolls. You will be allowed very few positive reviews, if at all. The least I can say for you is one. The most is three thousand, five hundred, and forty-one. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, but one thing I don't get is why the Dark Ones have to disguise themselves if I know they're requesting the reviews anyway, since you told me," Plinkett pointed out.

Palpatine's eyes widened at that. "Oh, shit, I forgot I wasn't supposed to do that. Well, just forget I ever said that then."

"Okay, I'll do that then," Plinkett replied flatly.

"You're not lying to me, are you?" Palpatine asked.

"No, no, I'm not lying to you... At all, at that," Plinkett said, his tone still flat.

"Are you really not lying to me?" Palpatine asked skeptically.

"I'm really not lying to you," Plinkett said. "I've already forgotten that you told me that the Dark Ones will disguise themselves as Internet trolls who will force me to review crappy blockbuster films."

"Good," Palpatine said. "I'll keep you to your word. But there is one condition."

"There's a condition to this condition?" Plinkett asked.

"Yes, there's a condition to your condition."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, yeah, the condition my condition is in," Plinkett said. "So what is it then?"

"If you take too long with your reviews in terms of when you release them, to the expectations of the Dark Ones anyway, you will be forced to see me again so that I may remind you of your obligation."

"Well, it will be nice to see your lovely, pretty face and hear your melodic voice again, Your Majesty," Plinkett said sarcastically.

"Thank you, I know," Palpatine nodded, apparently oblivious to Plinkett's sarcasm. "I am considered to be quite sexy and a marvellous singer in my reality."

"Good for you," Plinkett replied flatly. "Say, aside from either of us, who else is part of the Dark Ones?"

"Believe it or not, George Lucas is one of the members," Palpatine said.

"George Lucas?" Plinkett asked.

"Yes. Along with the Antichrist, Lord Vishnu, and Kevin Bacon.".

"Anything else you gotta tell me?" Plinkett asked.

"Yes, there is," Palpatine said. "If the Dark Ones, including myself, are satisfied with any one of your reviews, you will be rewarded whatever you like as a prize. But keep in mind, if you fail us, what will be your prize may very well be your folly."

"Can I choose what I want now?" Plinkett asked.

"If you wish."

"I want a prostitute who will understand the pain that I will go through the pain of watching and reviewing the crappy films I'll no doubt have to review."

"Very well. I am aware of such a prostitute nearby. Her name is Nadine. I believe she will suit your purposes well, Plinkett. Well, you are now to begin your review of _Star Trek: Generations_," Palpatine said. "Goodbye, Lord Plinkett." Then he began fading away.

"Wait, wait!" Plinkett said.

Palpatine's form solidified. "What?" he asked, annoyed.

"Would you first like to stay for some pizza rolls?"

Palpatine hesitated for a moment as he visibly deliberated over his decision. "Sure, I love pizza rolls."

"Me, too," Plinkett agreed.

Half an hour later, with the Pizza Rolls now hot and ready from the oven, Plinkett and Palpatine were sitting in the former's kitchen table and snacking down on the bite-sized treats, not minding the spilled Cheetos and other items on the floor that Plinkett had dropped before he invited Samantha into the house.

"You know, I think we'll be good friends after this," Plinkett said.

"Yes, I think so, too," Palpatine replied before popping one of the Pizza Rolls in his mouth.

Little would either of them know what the future lay in store for either of them...

**Hey, everybody. You're probably confused as to what the hell this is. This is basically a love letter to Red Letter Media, popular for his reviews of the Star Wars prequels, the Star Trek Next Generation films, Indiana Jones 4, and Kevin Bacon. Review if you like. If you don't like or review... well, then, you ain't gettin' a Pizza Roll, you got it?**


End file.
